


Hell and High Water

by Bool_Ji



Category: Marvel
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Earth, Anal Sex, And Lots of It, Freaking Pirates!, M/M, Magic, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bool_Ji/pseuds/Bool_Ji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I prefer our Hell. Less tentacles."</p><p> </p><p> <i>Responding to a call from Blackbeard, the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth-11718, Doctor Strange and Doctor Doom do battle with the ruler of the underworld to prevent the planet from sinking beneath black waves!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a RP between myself and my friend Kaya (http://and-umar.tumblr.com/). I control Strange and Blackbeard, she controls Doom. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

It’s blue. Very, very blue. A pleasant blue, an endless blue. The color of freedom. Stephen Strange takes a deep breath of the salt air, filling his lungs with the sea, and sighs it back out. “You don’t get that in Greenwich Village.” They’re on an atoll, a small strip of sand that barely supports a patch of grass and a lone palm tree. The rest is ocean and sky as far as the eye can see. The sorcerer’s Cloak of Levitation is a blotch of red in an otherwise unbroken horizon.

The king of Latveria looks out over the ocean and wonders why he has let Stephen bring him to this place under such odd and mysterious circumstances- circumstances that truly should be irrelevant to Victor Von Doom. And yet, it has been a long time since the troubles of the Sorcerer Supreme truly felt irrelevant. The expansive ocean is indeed beautiful, but so are the rolling hills of his own country where he has his own matters to attend to. Victor has never had trouble sacrificing a little beauty to do what need be done anyway. “Well, there is not much of worth to be found in that city of yours.”

“You enjoyed the Guggenheim, if I’m not mistaken.”

Stephen stares out to sea, hands folded behind his back. The ocean laps at the shore, and he stands far enough away to keep his feet dry.

“Which is why I said that there is not much, not that there was nothing. Do try to listen more carefully, Stephen.” Doom peers at their surroundings, looking to see if there is anything within sight other than water and the small patch of sand on which they stand, although there does not appear to be so.

And so it begins. Strange reins in a sigh.

On the horizon, a light flickers in the sky. The Eye of Agamotto responds, flashing in kind. The two objects shimmer and gleam, speaking an inaudible language, until the ship appears. It materializes out of the sea, a magnificent craft built of wood with huge white sails.

It flies a black flag bearing a skull and crossbones.

Stephen smiles.

Doom appraises the ship as it comes into being before them. “Pirates,” he mutters lowly as he crosses his arms and glowers, not overly pleased to note the black flag. He can feel the deep, intrinsic hum of the presence of another powerful, magical entity in the vicinity.

A smaller boat rows to shore from the larger vessel, and the captain sets foot on the sand.

There are will-o-wisps tied in his hair. He wears a tricorner hat and a red, water-stained coat with a familiar gold trim. He carries a pistol at his hip, a bandolier across his shoulder, and smells of gunpowder and the primordial ocean.

Edward Teach, Sorcerer Supreme, Blackbeard the pirate, tips his hat to Stephen. “Doct’er.”

Strange mimics the motion. “Captain.”

He looks the man over, making a note that he has rudely yet to greet him. “Am I to be expected to climb into that poor, rickety excuse for a boat without even an introduction?”

Blackbeard scowls, revealing rotten teeth and blackened gums. “I know who ye be, ye land-walkin’ scoundrel. Ye with yer clockwork mind, ye who threw men through time t’steal me treasure.”

Stephen shoots Doom a look over his shoulder. “Should I know about this?”

Doom shakes his head at Stephen. “No. I needn’t explain myself. However,” he looks back towards Blackbeard, “I should think that a man seeking assistance should address me with the proper respect.”

“Yaren’t Sorce’rer Supreme, so ye be nary but extra weight. Fer yer sake, ye king of rats, pray t’what gods’ll have ye yer fancy garb doesn’t rust into useless scrap.”

“Gentlemen,” Stephen says, holding up his hands, “Save the bickering for after the problem’s been fixed. Captain?”

Blackbeard fixes Doom with a venomous stare.

Doom glares intently back at Blackbeard as he addresses Strange, not willing to break away from the mutual menacing of one another first. “Stephen, Victor Von Doom has more important matters to attend to than being slighted by an incompetent pirate who is apparently incapable of fulfilling his duties without ample assistance. Do remind me why I should be lending my valuable time and energy to this venture?”

“It gets you some fresh air every once in a while.” Strange nods to Blackbeard. “Captain, if you please.”

The pirate clearly dislikes breaking his stare with Doom, but he reluctantly looks away, back out at the horizon. “The waters no longer be safe haven for me ilk. Vessels vanish. Seamen be swept away. Entire towns drown as the sea rises to claim the land. The ocean-bound be afraid to step foot on a ship.” He glances back at the doctors. “A strange tide be rising, and upon it rides Death.”

Doom feels a small satisfaction that the pirate averted his gaze first and bites back commenting upon the fact that there is plenty of fresh air in Latveria. The story gains the interest of his curious mind. “When did this begin?”

“Three turns o’ the moon. Thar be but one cause o’ this plague upon me waters.”

Doom gestures somewhat impatiently for the captain to get on with it. “And that would be?”

“The ruler o’ the underworld. Davy Jones.”

“Provided you are not mistaken, what would you have us do about such a thing?”

“Sail t’ the Locker and force the beast t’ draw back ‘is hellish waters.” Blackbeard grinned. “If the almighty Vishanti will it so, mayhap thar be treasure t’ free ‘longside the souls ah me breth’ren…”

Doom allows himself a moment to wonder what sort of useful treasure might be acquired. He gives his silence as assent- at least for the time being- and looks to Strange.

Stephen nods to Blackbeard. “We shall help you, captain. If it is the will of the Vishanti, I shall do whatever I can.”

The pirate removes his hat and holds it over his heart. “Thank ye, doct’er. The fate of the world lies in our hands.” He replaces his hat, steps into the boat, hesitates and looks back at Stephen. His eyes glance toward Doom. “Can ‘e swim? I wager he be too heavy fer this simple craft.”

Doom harrumphs in the pirate’s direction. “I can fly. And doing so will certainly be preferable.”

Blackbeard cackles. “Ye be the ugliest gull’d ever taken wing, landlubber.”

Stephen sighs. “Can we please get to the ship before a fight breaks out?”

Doom settles his hands on his hips. “That will depend largely upon whether he can learn to hold his tongue.”

“Perhaps he has the right to. What is this ‘throwing men through time to get pirate treasure’ thing, Victor?”

“…There were a few items here that I required. There was no disgrace in the choice to send a group of less valuable people than I to retrieve them for me.”

Stephen shakes his head and joins Blackbeard in the rowboat. “Sometimes you defy all reason, Victor.”

Doom beings to lift into the air. “On the contrary, Strange, there are few men as dedicated to reason as I.”

“That often doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“Just because you do not approve of an action, does not mean it is not one based in reason.”

The sorcerer sighs. He hates arguing with Doom. The king is just too damn good at it. “Captain, at your leisure.”

Blackbeard chuckles. “Let us see the clockwork gull fly! Yarr, ye scurvy dogs, row!” His crew pulls on the oars, and they slowly row towards the ship.

Doom ignores the comment from the Captain- figuring he can avoid cursing the man for Stephen’s sake- and allows himself a small smirk at his lover’s silent capitulation as he flies out over the water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Stephen discuss the matter at hand.
> 
> And then they have sex.

The Queen Anne’s Revenge was Blackbeard’s Sanctum Sanctorum. Timber reinforced with enchantments, below-deck was an ever-shifting maze of rooms and corridors, manned by the pirate’s crew. After supper, where Blackbeard’s Wong enraptured all involved — “Me first mate’s shanties of the Farthest East, his tales of leviathans and medusae, all these be true, doctor…clockwork gull.” — the off-worlders were given accommodations of their own. As the ship vanished to onlookers and sailed through the night, there was a knock on Doom’s door. “Victor? It’s me. Are you sleeping?”

Doom is sitting at the lone, small wooden table that sits beneath the port-hole to the left of the bed. He has been reading an old tome summoned from home- not in the mood to sleep aboard this pirate’s ship. “No.” He waves a hand and the door opens.

Stephen Strange, minus his Cloak, enters the room. His tunic billows open loosely. He shuts the door behind him and goes to Doom’s side. “Comfortable? If you hear scurrying in the walls, it’s for ambience. Mostly.”

Doom allows his eyes to briefly be drawn to the loose opening of Stephen’s tunic. “Comfortable as I shall ever be on such a ship. I’ve been worse places. And yourself? How are your accommodations?”

“Good enough.” The sorcerer sits across from him, folding his hands in his lap. “I wanted to talk to you. I know you and Blackbeard started off poorly, and you have some kind of history. So tell me, have any plots to murder him in his sleep? I know the thought’s crossed your mind.”

“I won’t deny that I have considered it. But I am content to allow him to live…for now, provided he learns how to properly address his betters and shows no signs of an intent to cross us. And if I was going to kill the man, I wouldn’t do it in his sleep,”

Stephen considers their standings — king and pirate, scientist and Sorcerer Supreme. He can’t make the call. “Word to the wise, I wouldn’t kill him in front of his crew of twenty expertly-trained magic pirates either. I wouldn’t kill him at all, actually. Stick to the lattermost plan, Victor.”

Doom chuckles. “Are you advocating that I under no circumstances kill him, or that if I do I take his life in his sleep?”

“He may smell like an open sewer, but he’s powerful, and he needs our help. Don’t kill him.” Strange sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Thus we reach the second reason why I want to talk to you.”

Doom flips his book closed lightly and rests his armored hands atop it. “I’m listening, Strange.”

“Davy Jones’s Locker rests at the bottom of the ocean. Davy Jones himself has been raising the sea level over mere months, capsizing ships and wiping out towns, increasing the size of his realm. The Vishanti have spoken to Blackbeard, and authorized him to force Davy Jones to lower the waters again. It’s not going to be easy, Victor.” He stares out the porthole. The stars reflect off the black ocean. “You remember how difficult it was to deliver a single soul from Hell.”

Doom watches Stephen’s contemplative face and allows himself a brief moment of remembrance before steeling himself for whatever may come, banishing any doubt in his intent. Victor Von Doom has little patience for doubt. “I do. And yet we succeeded, as we shall do again.”

A small smile blossoms on Strange’s face. He sets a hand on top of Doom’s. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. I told you I would assist you. That is my word, and I will keep it.” Doom says this in a dismissive tone, but turns his hand palm up beneath Stephen’s none the less.

The sorcerer gives a quiet content noise, squeezing his hand. “May I stay with you tonight? Whoever’s in the room next to mine snores louder than a drunk Zlatorog.”

Doom gives an affirmative nod, liking the idea. “I can’t see any reason why you should not.”

Strange gets up, examining the flimsy hammock with a raised eyebrow. As he sheds his tunic, hanging it on an exposed nail, he says, “No wonder you couldn’t sleep.”

The king turns his head to watch him. “It is certainly not what I am accustomed to.”

“Easily remedied.” Stephen focuses, holding up a hand. The hammock snaps off the wall, stretches and molds itself into a bed with forest green sheets. He smiles over his shoulder at the king. “Sentient sailing ships. Excellent. I think plumbing would be a bit of a stretch though.”

Doom smiles minutely at Strange’s ingenuity. He stands, unclasping his cloak from his shoulders and drapes it over the back of his chair, planning to follow Stephen to bed. “That looks far preferable.”

The sorcerer reaches for his mask, holding the sides of his face. “May I?”

“You may.”

Stephen unclasps the mask away from his armor, feeling for binds mystical as well as mechanical, and, once it is free, gently sets it on the table. His hands find his face again and pull him in for a kiss.

Doom tilts his face down to meet Stephen in a kiss, hands automatically going to grip the sorcerer’s hips.

When they part, Strange chuckles, resting his arms on Doom’s shoulders. His grin is as brilliant as the sun. “Shiver me timbers.”

Doom keeps his grip and returns Strange a smile, but shakes his head at the joke. “Hmph. What am I to do with you, Stephen?”

“Tie me to the mizzenmast and blow the man down?”

Doom allows himself a chuckle at that. He snakes his hand down and around to gain a handful of Stephen’s back side. “That could certainly be arranged.”

Strange lets out a breath, arching against his lover. Pecking him on the cheek, he pulls away to settle on the bed, smiling up at him. “You have permission to come aboard, master-commander.”

Doom rests a knee on the edge of the bed and unfastens his belt. “You are still too clothed, Stephen.”

Strange tucks his thumbs into his tights, meeting the king’s gaze. “Says the man in a full suit of armor.”

Doom returns his gaze with a small smirk and then pulls free his tunic. “That is soon enough to be remedied.”

“Best news I’ve heard all day.”

Stephen raises his hand and the table shoves itself against the door. The porthole widens, swallowing the wall of the ship. Moonlight and stars shine into the room as the candlelight dims. “That’s better.”

“Indeed. Much.” Doom looks briefly out at the sky-lit ocean as he begins to remove his armor, floating the shed pieces to lay a ways away in a neat pile.

When he’s bare, Stephen tugs his tights off, tossing them in the general direction of Doom’s armor. He crooks a finger at him, smiling sweetly.

Doom accepts the tacit invitation gladly and climbs onto the bed of Strange’s creation. He settles himself above him and allows his eyes to take in the unclothed man beneath him before he runs a hand up Stephen’s thigh.

The sorcerer shifts closer to him, arching into his touch. “Make any quips about cabin boys and you’re walking the plank,” he murmurs, stroking Doom’s hair.

Doom presses down against him, meeting the familiar warmth of the Sorcerer Supreme’s body. He ducks his head to nip at the dip between Stephen’s neck and shoulder. “I’m not sure you’re in much of a position to be delivering threats.” The king’s voice sounds amused, if anything.

Strange moans softly, holding him close. “You have a point. Turn over.”

Doom repeats the motion, enjoying the response, but then turns over. “First threats, now orders…” He smirks.

“Can’t help it. It’s in the very fabric of this world.” Stephen kisses Victor, then trails his lips lower, over the scars on his face and the scars on his body, pausing every so often to pay special attention to sensitive spots of skin and to speak. “You can nearly smell it, can’t you? It’s adventure. It’s freedom.”

Doom rests his hand on Stephen’s head, fingers entangling in the man’s hair, and bites back a groan at the attention being paid to his body. “This place is most certainly beginning to win me over now that we’ve found something more worthwhile to do than wait.”

Strange chuckles, kissing his thigh, then touching his lips softly to the tip of his erection. He wraps a hand around Doom’s cock gently. “Well, ahoy there.”

Doom sucks in a sharp breath at the touch and then lets out an amused one at Strange’s insistent humor. He gently lifts into Stephen’s hand, urging him on.

Locking eyes with his lover, Stephen takes the head of him between his lips, sucking softly as he strokes the underside. He reaches up and takes Doom’s other hand, holding it tight as he gradually coaxes more of the king in his mouth, deep in his throat. Moaning around him, he bobs his head, pulling off to lick him wet.

Doom groans at the wet warmth of Stephen’s mouth on his cock, the sight of it further stirring his lust. His hand tightens in Strange’s, though he makes an effort to not tug _too_ roughly at the man’s hair.

Stephen leaves one last kiss to the tip of his cock before sitting up. Pressing their dicks together, a shiver coursing down his spine at the pleasure, the sorcerer gives Doom’s fingers the same treatment, stardust gray eyes on rust brown. He leans in close, touching their lips. “I need you,” he murmurs.

The sentiment draws forth a low growl of want from Doom and he presses their lips together forcefully. The scientist runs his free hand down the curve of Strange’s ass, taking hold to rut their hips together.

Stephen moans loudly, nails digging into Doom’s shoulders. He rocks back against the king’s hand. “Do it, Victor, please.”

“Impatient,” Doom mutters against Stephen’s ear, although the plea brings about a deep, twisting lust in his gut and his breath has grown quite heavy. He nudges two fingers against his lover’s entrance.

Strange draws in a breath. “Yesss. Victor…”

Doom whispers a short incantation, lightly slicking his fingers, and presses them inside Strange as he takes the man’s bottom lip into his mouth.

Stephen moans, kissing him passionately as he rocks back against those rough, talented fingers. When they part, he chuckles softly. “Y-you’ve been doing your homework.”

Stephen’s moan affects Doom as they always do- making his skin feel flushed from passion and his cock ache with anticipation of wringing from the man more such sounds. “Well, leaving those scrolls in my study was not exactly the picture of subtlety.” Doom punctuates the statement with a deep crook of his fingers.

“Look who’s taaah, Victor, fuck me,” Stephen groans, “Please, oh please.”

“Gladly.” Doom presses his finger into his lover’s body once more before he pulls them free. He wraps his arm around Stephen’s waist, flipping them over so the sorcerer is on his back beneath him. Doom brings his mouth to Strange’s collar bone and drags his teeth against it as he wraps a hand around Stephen’s sveltely muscled thigh and pulls it aside to settle his hips between them.

Any deadpan comments are blotted out by the lust burning inside the sorcerer. He spreads his legs, clutches Doom’s shoulders, and pants for air. “C’mon, Victor, do it!”

Doom gives Strange a slap on the thigh in playful rebuke, although truly, the king is feeling no more patient than his lover. He reaches down between them, repeats the short, previous spell to slick himself, and presses his dick against and then into Stephen with an impassioned thrust. A low moan escapes as he’s enveloped in the tight, intoxicating heat of Strange’s body.

Stephen bites back a cry, clinging to Doom as if his life depends on it. He’s soft and snug and hot inside. Strings of words and curses and phrases in English lapse into other languages and back into English as he adjusts. Finally, he relaxes, stroking the back of Doom’s neck and cracking a small smile. “In case you couldn’t tell — feels good.”

“I could tell.” Doom chuckles, although it comes out raspy and breathless. The hand of the arm supporting him fisted in the sheets, the other having returned to Stephen’s thigh, the king allows himself a moment of stillness to feel the squeeze of Stephen’s body around him. “You feel—” Doom’s speech pauses in a hitched breath as he pulls out a bit to thrust back in. “—perfect.”

Strange gasps, fisting a handful of Victor’s hair. For a second, he leaves his body and sees himself and Doom together on the bed, connected, bathed in moonlight reflecting off the sea. He returns to himself, writhing as pleasure floods over him again, and pulls the king in for a kiss.

Doom goes gladly into the kiss, groaning against Stephen’s lips before pressing his tongue into the man’s mouth. He pumps in and out of Strange, settling into a rhythm, the body beneath him hot and yielding and further inflaming his lust with its touch.

Stephen is loud, moaning and shouting over the slap of their bodies together. His nails dig grooves into Doom’s back, legs propped against his hips, and he writhes with the intensity of their coupling. “Hoary fuuuhgod Victor, fuck me!”

Victor tucks his face into the crux of Stephen’s neck and groans unabashedly, slamming into him with rising intensity. The sounds of their bodies and Strange’s wanton moans urge him on- his want only increasing as he takes. “Yes, Strange, _take it_.”

“Victor!” Those little words in his ear are all the impetus he needs to grasp his leaking cock and jerk himself frantically. He can feel it rising inside of him, as powerful and unstoppable as a wave on the ocean outside. “Oh fuck, fuck yes, Victor, I — oh shit—” Voice breaking on a cry, he comes between them, spurting wet and hot on his belly.

Stephen’s writhing and moaning- the orgasmic pleas of his name especially- beneath him brings Doom to a sharp edge that he feels he will tumble over any second. Knuckles white from gripping the sheets, Doom thrusts into Strange with abandon as the man’s body contracts to grip him, until he spills into Stephen with a strangled shout against his hot, sweat soaked skin.

Strange moans in answer, falling limp against the sheets. He strokes Doom’s hair, feeling the heat and weight of his body on top of him. It feels good. It feels right.

“Wow.”

Doom rests contentedly against the solid warmth that is Stephen beneath him. He makes a soft, low noise of assent at the sentiment and lets out a breathless chortle. The king catches his breath, body still tingling, in the now so much more silent room as he feels himself begin to soften inside his lover.

Stephen smiles, drawing him in for a kiss. He says, “What we have both just experienced is but one of the reasons why I love you, Victor von Doom.”

Doom presses his slightly upward turned lips against Stephen’s, looking pleased with himself. “And I you, Strange.” His fingers give a brief caress to the skin of Stephen’s hip before he pulls free of his body and rolls to lay on his back.

The sorcerer stretches, feeling satisfied and warm and brilliant. He rests his head on Doom’s shoulder, drapes an arm across his torso, and shuts his eyes, hearing the siren song of slumber.

And then he speaks.

“Victor?”

Doom has let his hand fall to rest on Strange’s head, allowing himself to just experience the familiar feeling of his spent lover resting against him- the thrumming in Doom body starting to fade into tired contentment now that sleep has grown nearer. “Yes?”

“What are the chances of pirate ships being soundproof?”

Doom chuckles at that with the vindictive satisfaction of the idea of disrupting the pirate’s sleep. “Quite slim, I’m afraid.”

Stephen groans, burying his face deeper against the king. “If anyone asks, there were bilge rats. Forty of them. They were the size of dogs.”

“Bilge rats. Of course. I am sure that your wanton moaning and screaming of Doom’s name will coincide perfectly with such an excuse.”

There’s a hard poke in his ribs, and then Stephen rolls away onto his side. “Smartass.”

Doom smirks but rolls after Strange, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull the sorcerer’s back against his chest. “We’ll think of a proper excuse to temper your mortification in the morning.”

Stephen sighs, trying to rouse anger in his heart, but he gets nothing but the pleasant afterglow. He kisses the king’s hand. “I don’t know how anyone can stay mad at you,” he mutters.

Doom chuckles. “Many have managed. But you’ve proven to have better sense than most.” Doom lets his eyes close, face nestled against Strange’s hair.

The wall of the ship closes back up and the candle flames extinguish themselves entirely. The sorcerer tugs a blanket over them both. Let tomorrow bring what it will. “Good night,” he murmurs, then quietly adds, “Me heartie.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dive, dive, dive!

The next day, the air was tense. The pleasant smell of open ocean was different. It was laced with a sinister scent underneath…the reek of sulfur. The sky was tinged yellow around the horizon, and tall waves rocked the boat. Edward Teach faced the two doctors when they emerged above deck. He had received news of what they had done last night, and the knowledge sat low with him, undigested and heavy. Still…if this was what he had to work with, he could endure. “Doct’er,” he said, tipping his hat to Strange. “Clockwork gull.”

Doom just crossed his arms and gave the Captain a curt nod- the only acknowledgement he was in the mood to give. Under different circumstances, he would have been quite ready to show the man the folly that was disrespecting Victor Von Doom, but he had a promise to fulfill. He reminded himself that if he so chose he could always show the pirate the consequences of his mistake after the promised matters were all dealt with. Despite the ominous aura that seemed to permeate the very essence of that morning, Doom was in higher spirits than he had been the previous day, for obvious reasons.

“Where are we?” Stephen asked, hands folded behind his back.

“End o’ the world,” Blackbeard replied, “Where ships and sailors go t’die.” Around him, the members of his crew gathered into positions around the deck. “Doct’er, we must descend. If ye feel inclined, lend us your power.”

“I shall, captain.” The sorcerer focused, levitating in the lotus position. He glanced back at Doom. “If you’re going to be seasick, do it now. It’s going to get worse.”

“I believe I shall manage,” Doom answered, cutting Strange a look as if to say: _honestly, Stephen_. None the less, he set a hand on the nearest solid surface, knowing no descent to the underworld is a smooth one.

The pirates began a chant. Runes etched into the deck of the ship responded to their words, glowing purple against the dark grains. The two Eyes of Agamotto, belonging to two Sorcerer Supremes, glowed and sparked as power charged the air. Blackbeard raised a hand to the sky.

“Hoggoth, Oshtur, Agamotto, hear me cry!” he roared, “Holy triumvirate, I hear ye and do ye biddin’! Poseidon, Agwe, lend me your rage! I be yer blade to exact vengeance for crimes most foul! I be Edward Teach, Sorcerer Supreme, Blackbeard, and I command ye: part the sea!”

Queen Anne’s Revenge groaned and shifted, the waves growing, slapping violently against the hull. Stephen grimaced but kept his focus. Blackbeard froze, eyes bright, and the crew kept chanting.

Sparks leapt between the deck and all upon it, small bolts of electricity arcing against Doom’s armor.

The ship tilted back, creaking precariously. The cargo, while tied down, still shifted as the mermaid on the bow of the ship lifted her head to the sky.

Doom widened his stance to steady himself and held on. Magic was thick and pungent in the air, a tangible presence as it licked against his enchanted armor. The monarch looked out at the parting, turbulent waters, having first spared a look as to how Strange faired.

A huge tunnel of air opened beneath the ship. Darkness lurked at the bottom.

“Drop anchor!” Blackbeard bellowed.

There was a clanking and suddenly Queen Anne’s Revenge jerked downward. The ship sank beneath the waves. Surrounded by water, dark forms swimming only an arm’s length away, the sorcerers and the pirate crew held their positions as temperature dropped and light dwindled to nothing.

Doom held tight to the ship. He could feel the presence of the dark creatures that lurked in such deep, dark places, but focused instead on remaining steadfast and alert. It was generally unwise to give attention to or draw attention from the types of thing one may run across on a journey to the underworld, so he refrained from watching the shadowy figures so very close by and resolved not to summon light as of yet.

Finally, a pair of Eyes shone in the darkness. The pirate crew still chanted monotonously. Stephen Strange, back on his feet, went to the king’s side. His breath puffed visibly in the frigid air.

“This be as far as we go,” Blackbeard said, shadows crawling across his face, “Any farther and Queen Anne’d be crushed t’splinters.” He beckoned to them and went below deck.

Strange followed him.

Doom followed Strange below, steeled for whatever may come. “How far is there to go from here?” He knew that in places like that it was often a question far easier posed than answered, but he asked none the less.

“Do you want the answer in nautical miles, fathoms, or mystical terms?” Stephen replied.

Blackbeard took them to the lowest deck of the ship. A hollow chute opened from the base of the ship. “This leads to the anchor,” he said, “It shall ferry us ‘cross the last of our journey.” He glanced over his shoulder at the doctors. “It be a one-way trip. Make peace with yer gods now.” The pirate crawled down the ladder into darkness.

Doom peered down the ladder, although there was nothing to see but blackness. “Mystical terms. Would you have me go first or are you set on it?”

“I honestly have no idea. To answer your first question. I will go first.” Stephen took his hand, squeezing it. “Here we go again.”

“An estimate on a quest such as this one would likely prove false anyhow.” Doom returned the squeeze. ” and I would be willing to go first, if you are hesitant.”

“I’m not…but thank you.” Stephen grabbed onto the ladder. “Think of it this way. Now I can look up your skirt.”

“Doom shall overlook that phrasing. This once.” Doom smirks at the lecherous comment, despite himself.

Strange grins, but it evaporates when he descends down the ladder.

Once there is enough room, Doom grabbed hold of the ladder and began his descent.

Below, inside the anchor, Blackbeard was sitting. The wisps in his beard were the only source of light. When the doctors were with him, he said, “Dead men tell no tales. What awaits us below has never been seen by the eyes o’ the livin’.” He held up a hand and made the mano cornuto. “We sail, gentlemen.”

There was a harsh downward tug, an instant of crushing pressure, and then shattering wood and an eerie light the color of hypothermic skin. They were in a tunnel of volcanic rock. Ice clung to the walls. The floor and air were saturated with frigid water.

Blackbeard got up. He drew a finger through the air, summoning a cutlass made of raw mystic energy. He clasped it in one hand and held his pistol in the other. The pirate sniffed the air and scowled. “This be the Locker. Thar be no mistake.”

Despite past experience, Doom’s stomach gave a small lurch at the unnatural drop, although the recovery was quick. He surveyed their eery surroundings, adjusting to the supernatural chill. “Onwards, then. We should not tarry here longer than necessary.”

As the three sorcerers continued through the tunnel, moans and shadowy shapes trickled into appearance. Giant worms with red heads grew from the floor.

Stephen gave them a wide berth. “I think I prefer our Hell. Less tentacles.”

Blackbeard hushed him, holding up his gun. The walls ahead were barred. When they came closer, they saw ghosts locked inside, pathetic wraiths clothed in rags and seaweed.

“Men!” one cried, “Living men!”

The ghosts reached out for them, moaning and wailing. The shapes in the walls swam around them, surging deeper in the tunnel.

“Cursed fools!” Blackbeard cried. He ran through the tunnel, avoiding the hands and hooks that reached for him.

Doom averted his eyes from the wailing men and ghouls. It would do little good to encourage the hysteria. “I think it is of small use, comparing Hells.” He gave a moment of focus to bolster his defenses against anything more powerful that could lay out of sight, and then hurried after Blackbeard, offering Strange his arm.

The screams of the damned followed them as the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern. Shipwrecks stuck out of the walls, bones and rot covered the floor, and all around them caged ghosts wailed and cried. In the center of the cave was a black coiled mass. “Davy Jones!” Blackbeard bellowed. The coil stirred, then shifted, unwrapping itself. It resembled a sea serpent, skin smooth and leathery, massive in size, the end of the beast nowhere in sight. Its huge maw, easily thirty feet across, was lined with circles of sharp, hooked teeth that continued down into its gullet. Its eyes were blank but glowed like beacons not calling ships to shore, but to certain death. Davy Jones saw the three, and its roar quaked the very stone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epic conclusion to the piratey tomfoolery!

The terrible behemoth’s blustering sent a deep vibration through Doom’s armor. He looked up at it, his eyes scanning the beast for weaknesses. Its size unknown, he wondered just how far across the cavern its reach would extend. He gathered a ball of energy in hand- waiting for the creature to make some move- ready to hurl it.

Demons crept from below. Their piscine bodies were worn with rot and death, maws filled with hideous fangs, lit by bioluminescent markings. They attacked with tooth and claw or rudimentary weapons.

Blackbeard cut through them with his cutlass, and Stephen blasted them with bolts of lightning. The beasts kept coming, climbing up the walls or flying on tattered wings from below. The ghosts screamed and clamored in horror.

Doom lobbed magical projectiles at the writhing and lunging violent monstrosities, occasionally resorting to bodily knocking back a swooping fiend with an armored hand. When too many of the infernal creatures came near, he muttered a spell to blast them all back. Doom internally pondered how many times he had had to go into battle with Hell beasts.

“Captain!” Stephen shouted above the din, “What do we do?”

Blackbeard’s eyes gleamed with excitement, cutlass spreading demonic ichor through the air. “We fight till the Locker thaws over!” He cackled, pistol barking with a puff of gunpowder. The silver bullet tore through three demons before it stopped.

Above them, Davy Jones’s hideous toothy jaws widened, bright dead eyes narrowing on the magicians.

Doom did his damnedest to ignore the pirate’s misplaced enthusiasm as he blasted and batted at the persistent demons. The king was long past tired of pirates. There was a reason he hadn’t gone in person to steal Blackbeard’s treasure. He looked up at Davy Jones, the monster clearly now paying them more attention than was good for their health. “Strange,” he called out in warning, raising his voice to a volume and timber better heard over the screeching of the dying damned, “be alert to the serpent!”

“Victor!”

High above them, Davy Jones’s gullet expanded, and a beam of ice and frigid slush shot from its mouth. Stephen pushed Doom away with a spell as the blast tore through stone and frost. The cave wall collapsed behind him, sealing the king into a separate pocket of darkness, and the fallen rock quickly froze over. The sound of battle and a guttural roar came faintly from beyond.

Doom stumbled back from the force of the spell’s push, only having steadied himself in time to find himself trapped. He swore in his native tongue. The darkness was absolute, so the monarch summoned a small ball of light to illuminate the cave. Luckily, he neither saw nor felt the presence of some unwanted company. He pressed his hands up against the collapsed rock to see if his armor had the strength to push his way through. It did not budge- much to his chagrin- so he set about deciding upon a spell to assist him, not wanting to leave Strange on his own with a chaotic cavern of monsters with only one marauder to assist him.

Something tugged at his cloak. It was a hook, connected to the arm of a spectral pirate. More drifted into the cave, looking up at him wretchedly.

“‘Scuse me, sir,” he said, “Be you an angel?”

The ghosts murmured amongst themselves, speaking of deliverance and redemption. Their voices grew in volume and their bodies pressed closer, hands and hooks and stumps reaching for him, dragging at his tunic and his armor.

Doom swatted at the ghouls that dared to grab for his person. “Victor Von Doom is no angel. Flee if you do not wish to be vanquished.”

More and more swamped him, moaning and pulling on his cloak. A reputable sea of souls, threatening to drag him down.

“Avast, landlubber!”

A woman called to him. She wore a pirate’s coat and had a black patch over an eye. She was also a ghost, but her spectral being was more intact. She beckoned to him, kicking aside the groveling phantoms. “Make haste!”

Doom blasted away the remaining hangers-on and rushed out of their way back towards the collapsed entrance. “Identify yourself, woman,” he snapped more harshly than one should at a rescuer as the ghosts continued to attempt to reconverge and he began to gather the mystical energy to blast away the supernaturally strong stone.

“I shall tell ye, but first ye must come!” She retreated farther back into the cave, paused, and beckoned to him again. “We be allies! If ye wish t’bring down Davy Jones, ye must come with me!”

Doom reluctantly turned away from the collapsed wall to go towards her. “I will follow, but I must warn you, ghost: choose to cross me or attempt to keep me from my goal, and I shall summon a worse Hell for you than this one.”

The ghost led him farther down into the Locker, pausing every so often to avoid patrolling demons. When they had a moment of respite, she said, “I be Anne Bonny, fiercest she-dog that ever sailed the seven seas.” She shook her head, looking at her hands. “ _Sailed_. As ye kin see, me mortal life has come to an end. Hanged for piracy, I was, and now I be here. I harbor no regrets, landlubber. Ye call yerself Von Doom?”

Doom nodded curtly. “Victor Von Doom, King of Latveria.”

“Ne’er heard o’ it. Well, Von Doom, though I may be dead, me will to fight still burns hot.” Anne grinned, her remaining eye bright. “T’bring down Davy Jones, y’have to get to ‘is heart.”

“And I assume you are to give me further instruction?”

“The kings I know and the kings I hear but tales of be not wise men, so I shall—”

A roar interrupted her. A shark demon caught sight of them. It hefted the barrel of an enormous gun at them, which spun with an unearthly shriek.

“Run!” Anne cried, flying deeper down into the Locker, “After me, Von Doom, run!”

Doom ran quickly down after Anne. He let off a blast behind him in case the demon was to give pursuit, but did not stop or tarry, though descending farther into the locker and leaving Strange above went against instinct.

The sounds of battle drew closer. They were below the main cavern. The lower coils of Davy Jones hung down and entered a derelict ship at the very bottom of the Locker.

It was the Flying Dutchman.

“The heart o’ the beast resides within,” Anne said, “Even a king kin chance out what t’do!” She faced the demons chasing them down. “Go! I kint hold ‘em off, but I shall buy ye time!”

Doom nodded to the ghostly pirate, a plan of action having become clear. “Doom owes you his thanks.” He dashed towards the bottom where the ship sat.

The stench of death grew stronger closer to the bottom. The Flying Dutchman was covered in black veins and layers of ice. A steady, rhythmic pound hammered through the floor and the air.

Doom lifted into the air and flew to hover above the ship. The behemoth’s heart clearly beat strongly within. He would have to destroy it, hopefully without alerting the monstrous serpent to his presence before hand. He smashed a screen of unnatural ice that rested over one of the smaller entrances to below deck that the armor would fit through-the largest one having been occupied by the large slick tail of Davy Jones- and dropped down into the belly of the ship.

The heart itself hung within, black and wrinkled with age and cold and evil. Its beat reverberated more powerfully than tsunami waves, than the crack of thunder in a squall. Ice and ichor flowed through the veins that coated every surface of the ship.

There were cannons in the hold. Ancient, rusted, but still primed and ready.

The rhythmic beating of the heart was near deafening. The king felt the pulses’ vibrations deep within his very bones. Seeing the cannons, he approached. He was mindful to avoid touching the veined walls- toxic with ancient evil. Doom examined the cannons as hastily as could be effective and found them to be in far from ideal condition, but thankfully a long way to go until they could be called truly decrepit. Several of the cannons were in different stages of preparation. He chose one that had been left unwisely but luckily loaded and pushed until it was in alignment with the large, black heart of Davy Jones. He chose a quick enchantment to lend the old weapon truer aim, summoned a small fire against the end of the fuse, and stepped back.

The cannon fired, and the explosion blasted Davy Jones’s heart into a flurry of black shreds.

Above, the serpent screamed. The sound shook the Locker hard enough to crack the ice and collapse walls. The ceiling cracked and quaked, and huge gouges broke open. Sea water flooded into the cavern. Davy Jones collapsed, slamming against the ground.

The Flying Dutchman was quickly filling up with water. In a flash of light, Stephen Strange was in the hold as well. He took one look at Doom and said, “I had a feeling you were behind this.”

Doom smirked at his gruesome handiwork and then looked to Strange. “I told you that I would ensure our success, Stephen.” He looked down at the rapidly rising water. “We should go.”

All around them, while the water coursed down, spirits were fleeing upward against the flow. While some of them were snapped up by demon jaws, many were silver flashes soaring out of the Locker.

“Agreed,” Stephen said. He wrapped a shield around himself and Doom and together they flew from the Flying Dutchman.

Above, Blackbeard was examining the corpse of Davy Jones. “‘E won’t be down fer long! ‘Is type cannot die; they be part of the grand ocean all sail upon!” He took flight. “To the surface! Ride the waves!”

The three flew from the Locker, surrounded by water and the souls of the dead. The ghosts lifted them up, sparing helping hands and hooks. It grew warmer and lighter as pressure dropped until they broke free of the ocean and soared into the sun-sweetened air.

Beneath them, the crew of Queen Anne’s Revenge cheered at the sight of their captain returned.

Doom relished breathing in the air. Its freshness was in stark contrast to the foul stench of the Locker. There were few things in the world quite like ascending from the bowls of the underworld. He turned his head towards Stephen as they lowered. “Word kept, is it safe to assume we are done with pirates, Strange?”

A soul leapt from the water and circled around the two doctors, as playful as a seabird. “Not bad for a king!” a voice came on the wind, “Latveria, ye said? Per’aps I’ll spare a visit!” Then it sailed out of sight, a sunbeam on the horizon.

Stephen smiled at his lover. “Are you saying a pirate’s life is not for you?”

Doom watched the bright spirit fly off and then returned Stephen a smile. “It most certainly is not. And I should imagine that it is not for you either…considering your fear of bilge rats.” The smile transformed into a small, teasing grin.

“Arrr, you.” Strange grinned back, squeezing Doom’s hand.

Blackbeard touched down on deck. He eyed the doctors, and while his stomach twisted, he ignored it in light of the triumph they had accomplished. “Well done!” he exclaimed, “Already the waters be recedin’ ‘cross the world, and the innocent souls claimed by Davy Jones be free to fly to their eternal rewards.” He folded his arms and glared at Doom. “I hate to say it…but y’be…useful. Fer a clockwork gull.”

Doom squeezed Stephen’s hand back but shook his head at yet another pirate joke. He turned to look at Blackbeard when the man spoke. “Hmpth. And you are not the most fiendish and unreliable pirate I have ever come across.”

Edward Teach grinned, tipping his hat. “Why thankee, ye king of rats.”

Doom crossed his arms. “If we are to end this on peaceful terms, I would not continue to try me.”

“Let’s focus on the world we just saved, gentlemen,” Stephen said. He tipped an imaginary hat to Blackbeard. “It was an honor to assist you, captain. If you ever need it again, I am always on call.”

Blackbeard bowed to him. “May the winds o’ fortune always blow at yer back, doct’er.”

“Captain!” Wong came forward, carrying three tankards of rum. He handed them to the sorcerers.

Edward Teach raised his cup, and the crew raised their own in return. Stephen did as well. “T’victory!” the pirate cried, “T’adventure, t’freedom, t’the almighty Vishanti, and th’ glory and power o’ magic!”

“To victory!” came the reply.

Stephen drank from his tankard, gagged, and choked back coughs, turning red. “Hoary hosts, it’s like battery acid,” he wheezed.

Doom raised his cup, the dedication of the cheer a sentiment he could embrace. He pat Stephen on the back a few times. “Offering our services again for the future now already, are we?”

Stephen gives him a grin that puts the sun to shame. “Think of it this way, Victor. When it comes to what we do, none are better.”


End file.
